


The Unsatisfactory and the Extraordinary

by Sarai



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Final Exams, M/M, Post-Book 2: Crooked Kingdom, School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24748576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarai/pseuds/Sarai
Summary: Jesper has returned to university, but as the semester draws to a close and final exams approach, he can't get rid of one fear: what will he do if he fails? What will Wylan do if he fails?
Relationships: Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck
Comments: 5
Kudos: 84





	The Unsatisfactory and the Extraordinary

**Author's Note:**

> The grading system used in this fic is based on the grading system in Holland. As I understand it, grades are 1-10, with 1-5 being not passing, 6-8 being common, and 9-10 being very rare. So, while in the U.S. a 7/10 is a mediocre grade you might get yelled at for, in Holland (by my understanding and for the purposes of this fic) it’s a good grade.

When he saw the marks on his final paper, Jesper felt the blood drain from his body like an overturned mug. His first semester back at university had been a challenging one. Using his powers regularly had helped, but it hadn’t changed the fact that he couldn’t sit still. Lectures made him itch. Studying wasn’t much better, though at least when he studied, he had Wylan. 

Saints, what would he have done without Wylan? He wouldn’t have finished the semester. There was so much stillness expected, none of which Jesper had. Unlike his classmates, he had a merchling who encouraged him, brought him tea, or just snuggled up against him and asked him about his studies. Things were easier to understand when he explained them. Not only that, when he wanted to quit—when this seemed pointless and miserable and he couldn’t convince himself that doing it was worthwhile for himself—he kept at it for Wylan.

Now he stared at his results and wondered how. How had all this time, all that studying, every white-knuckled and teeth-gritted slog through one more paragraph… how had that all amount to a 3?

3, he knew from university materials, meant _very unsatisfactory_. 

Jesper would have settled for a 6, a minimum passing “satisfactory” mark. He hoped for an 8. _Good_ , that was what an 8 meant. 

His hands went to his hips, where he should have found his revolvers. They weren’t there. He just… he needed something to shoot… because he couldn’t take this home to Wylan. What about his father? How could he tell his da?

He had done it again. He had disappointed everyone, he made them fools for believing in him… and he had been a fool himself for thinking he could actually make any changes, that he could affect anything. That he could do anything.

Suddenly Wylan was there, smiling at him. Jesper instinctively smiled back, but he felt a jolt nonetheless. What was Wylan doing here? He never came to the university. Yet there he was, the day Jesper had come to pick up his final marks.

“Wylan?” Jesper asked, trying to hide his paper. Wylan couldn’t read the words, but he knew what a 3 meant.

“I came to see your results,” Wylan explained.

Jesper swallowed. “Wylan… I…”

Wylan’s expression faltered. “You did pass, didn’t you?”

Not sure what else to do, Jesper handed over the paper. He gave it to Wylan and waited. Whatever Wylan had to say, Jesper deserved it.

“How could you have done this poorly?” Wylan asked. “And after all that studying, too! Saints, Jesper, I knew you were a loser, I didn’t realize you were a moron, too. Why am I wasting my time with you? Why—”

* * *

“—Jesper?” That was still Wylan’s voice, but in that usual gentle tone he used with Jesper, all the anger gone. “Jesper.”

Jesper startled upright. “What…”

He looked around. He was on the settee in the sitting room, his books and papers scattered, mouth damp with drool. A fire had burned down to embers in the fireplace. Matter-of-factly at first, he realized he was cold.

Jesper wiped his mouth as he tried to remember himself. 

It had only been a dream.

“You fell asleep,” Wylan said. His Wylan. The Wylan who looked at him with so much love—and, at the moment, concern.

“I was studying.”

“I know. Come to bed now.”

Jesper mumbled something incoherent.

“Come on.” Wylan half-hauled Jesper to his feet.

Jesper wanted to protest, but he was also exhausted, leaning heavily on Wylan as they made their way upstairs. He remembered now: he had days yet before the end of his courses, days to catch up and prepare for exams and a paper to finish. But not tonight. Despite his half-efforts to protest that he needed to keep studying, Jesper was too worn down for more reading tonight.

When they reached the bedroom, Jesper’s half-asleep mind couldn’t quite coordinate itself around his buttons.

“Let me.”

“I can get my own shirt off,” Jesper objected.

“Then consider this payback for every time you’ve torn off mine,” Wylan retorted, brushing Jesper’s hands aside and undoing his buttons with frustrating deftness. 

Jesper couldn’t deny there had been a few shirt-tearing-off incidents in the past.

“You must have been having a nice dream,” Wylan said. 

The cold air hit Jesper’s skin, smacking him into a painful halfwake. He shivered.

A nice dream? It was one of the worse he'd had in months.

“You were saying my name.”

_Saints, Jesper, I knew you were a loser, I didn’t realize you were a moron, too._

“I should’ve grabbed your nightshirt first, I’m sorry.”

Wylan went to retrieve it, but Jesper wasted no time stripping off his trousers and socks and crawling into bed. There was a brick wrapped in soft flannel at the foot of the bed, radiating enough heat to push the chill out of his bony toes.

“D’you love me?” Jesper asked.

“Of course I do.” 

The room filled with the sound of rain pattering the city and tapping against the windows. Jesper knew Wylan had seen him when he put off the lights. 

Crawling beneath the covers next to him, Wylan said, “I love you to the moon and back.”

Jesper found Wylan in the dark. For a few seconds they were all awkwardness and tangled limbs. Jesper flinched when Wylan’s ice-cold toes brushed his legs. But they remembered their way around each other, and they settled.

“You were angry,” Jesper said.

He heard the soft gasp. “I wasn’t, love. I was just checking… I know you need to study. But I adore you and I wanted to say good night.”

Any other time, hearing those words would have brushed the gloom from his thoughts.

Jesper shook his head—a habit, though it did no one any good in the dark. “In my dream. I failed my courses and you were angry.”

“Oh, Jesper…”

Wylan shifted against him, and it was a weird feeling, being clumsily cradled by an unseen merchling. But it wasn’t a bad feeling.

“You don’t know what it means to me, what you’re doing.”

“It’s not just for you,” Jesper pointed out. 

He didn’t want that—didn’t want Wylan thinking Jesper was better than he really was. Wylan was a part of the reason Jesper wanted to become a teacher, but so was Jesper himself. Even when he used his powers regularly, he was filled with restless energy: that wasn’t part of the sickness. His gambling was. But even if he hadn’t been zowa, Jesper would have struggled in quiet classrooms.

Jesper refused to believe he was the only person like him, the only person with that energy—and thus the only person who needed to be understood by their teachers. 

Wylan was a factor, though. Jesper had struggled in class, but he had always been able to achieve academically. What about people like Wylan, who learned differently? Were there others? There must be—because the way Wylan was, it was different, but it wasn’t wrong. 

Wylan kissed Jesper, likely missing his goal in the dark. Either that, or Wylan meant to kiss Jesper’s ear. It was sweet either way.

“I know,” he said, “but even if it’s not, it still… I don’t know how to—you know I’m not—”

“No,” Jesper interrupted, half-murmuring into Wylan’s chest. “You’re not bad with words, gorgeous. Just take your time. Deep breath.” 

He said it sleepily, but this one he knew by heart. Wylan had exactly two flustered states: the pink-cheeked one Jesper loved, and the head-bowed shameful stammering that made him want to break into the Hervorminghuis, the cushy prison where Jan Van Eck would one day die.

Wylan did as Jesper said: he breathed. Then, softly into the dark, he said, “No, Jes. Even now, I don’t know what to call it. When you talk about someone like me having a place in the world, I don’t know what to call how that makes me feel.”

“Good feeling?”

“Just when I thought you couldn’t make me feel any more wonderful.”

“I love you.” And he would knock out his exams and make Wylan proud of him.

“I love you, too.”

* * *

Over the next several days, the dream haunted Jesper. Every time his attention drifted from his notes and his books, he heard Wylan, done with him. Disgusted with him. And every time he caught himself more focused on picking at loose threads on his cuffs or arranging his pens into a star pattern, he knew it was his fault. 

Jesper wanted this for himself, but he didn’t need it. Not like he needed Wylan. Whatever happened, he would bounce back. He always did. 

When he had worked with a gunsmith back in Novyi Zem, an unexpected heatwave had cut his work short. He was needed on his da’s farm—he still learned so much and kept it with him.

When he left the university, maybe Jesper got carried away, but…

He would be okay. Whatever happened in his life, he would bounce back.

But Jesper had never been with someone who made him feel the way Wylan did. Wylan made him feel warm and grounded, held and flying all at once. Sometimes he struggled in a life without adventure, but in his heart he felt better than he ever had.

“Jes?”

He looked up and realized he had let his attention wander. There was a small pile of paper scraps Jesper had unthinkingly torn up—mercifully blank. Standing in the doorway, Wylan looked like he had just come in from that day’s Council meeting. He shrugged off his jacket as he approached and laid it over the back of a chair, then sat beside Jesper.

“How’s my handsome scholar today?”

Jesper groaned softly. “I’m trying, Wy.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I won’t subject you to this.”

Wylan reached for Jesper’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You know I love to hear about your studies.”

He knew Wylan claimed to love it, but he wasn’t sure Wylan would tell the truth if he hated hearing Jesper babble about the latest lecture to intrigue him or groan about one that had bored him.

Shaking his head, Jesper said, “I love you too much to ask you to sit here and keep me honest.”

“I don’t mind,” Wylan said, popping to his feet, “I’ll get my sketchbook.”

They sat together for a while, and there was something soothing in the whisper of Wylan’s pencils against fine drawing paper. Still, as evening set in, he was one day closer to his exams and did not feel a day readier. 

The following day, Jesper was studying again and Wylan was home. He brought Jesper cups of tea with stroopwafels and words of encouragement. It should have helped, but only stirred the worry in Jesper’s gut. It was bad enough if he worked hard and failed. The more Wylan put into this…

_I knew you were a loser, I didn’t realize you were a moron, too._

Jesper swallowed and brought his attention back to his books.

* * *

The morning of his exams, Jesper felt like he might vomit. He had only lasted a moment of days his first time at the university. He had never taken a quiz there during his first enrollment, let alone a final exam. 

It was pure luck he had his exams on the same day. Or maybe it was horrible luck. Either he would have everything over with at once, or the first would send him into a tailspin.

Jesper took a deep breath as he approached the university, drops of rain peppering his skin and dampening his clothes.

He would not be going into a tailspin.

As he crossed the Boeksplein, he looked up at the gruesome-faced gargoyles with their mortarboards and books. He wished for his revolvers. He didn’t _need_ his revolvers, but he felt more himself when he had them. He didn’t think he would care as much about his results if he had his revolvers. 

Wylan had been there this morning, smiling at him, saying he would do great. He had woken Jesper up with tea and honeyed toast. Not quite the same as a firefight, but it made him optimistic of his own success. It made him believe.

Tapping his buttons, Jesper struggled to recall a single solitary fact. He was sure he knew them. He just couldn’t find them.

He tried for another breath. Thought about an open, loving smile and wild freckles and red-gold curls.

He could do this. He could.

One more look at the gargoyles, one more touch to his absent revolvers. Jesper had always thrown himself into any fight. He wasn’t brave. He liked firefights, he liked brawls, he liked trading knocks and he liked coming out victorious. The worse the odds, the better—but this made his heart kick. If only someone would open fire on him... but he crossed to the lecture hall without incident, took another deep breath, and went to face his odds.

* * *

Jesper had feared failing, though he expected marks in the 6-to-7 range—not excelling, but passing. There had been too many days he left lectures early or started fidgeting less than half an hour in. He tried, but… he didn’t know how the others did it. What must it be like inside their heads? Jesper imagined a vast, dark room with a single small lamp.

When he saw his final marks, the floor seemed to pitch beneath his feet.

He wasn’t even excited by the commotion around him—another year of grade-riots, it seemed. He ignored that just like he ignored the impulse to duck down to the nearest gambling hall. What harm would come of a quick sojourn to the Barrel? He wouldn’t stay long. He would just—

Jesper forced his feet back home, grateful to live so close to the University District. He doubted he could have convinced himself to make a longer trip. It didn’t matter that the gambling halls were a greater distance. They were always nearer to him. 

He set down the papers—not for long. Just for… just for a minute. Just for a minute, except he couldn’t focus his mind on anything else. They had set up a shooting range, but it wasn’t the same without the threat of imminent death. He enjoyed shooting, but it didn’t overwhelm him—it became work. There were books, some of the novels Jesper enjoyed reading, but again he needed to be in the right mindset for them and he wasn’t. 

He thought about going outside and sitting in the dreary rain, but honestly… that sounded boring.

In the end, he found himself in the sitting room with a scone that he intended to eat but mostly broke carefully into smaller and smaller pieces, until he was squishing the bigger crumbs into little ones.

He didn’t know how much time had passed until he heard heard footsteps and rustling papers. It roared in his ears like a windstorm. Like the way drowning would. Jesper chose not to look up from the crumbs, even when Wylan knelt beside him. He didn’t stop until Wylan forced him to with an awkward sideways hug that pinned Jesper’s arms to his sides.

“I know you’re upset, but I’m proud of you.”

“4 means unsatisfactory,” Jesper said, since obviously Wylan had forgotten. He wouldn’t be proud now that he remembered.

“We always knew this was going to be a challenge. Your mind isn’t like other people’s.”

It wasn’t, but somehow in Jesper’s thoughts that hadn’t translated to failing. Why couldn’t it have been three 6’s? He would have been okay with that. Instead it was 8, 7, 4.

4\. He had feared unsatisfactory marks, but hadn’t truly believed he would see them.

“I’m not stupid.”

“I know.”

“I tried, Wylan.”

“I know. You did everything right. You did so well.”

“Didn’t matter, though, did it?”

“Hey.” Wylan pulled back and took Jesper’s face in his hands. “Hey. It mattered to me.”

Somehow, that didn’t help—even though this was Jesper’s exact fear assuaged. He still heard the Wylan from his dream voicing his own worst thoughts, even as his real Wylan said just the opposite.

“What are you upset about?” Wylan asked.

Wasn’t it obvious?! Yet when he reached for the answer, Jesper couldn’t find it. He was upset about his grade. He was upset because he had failed. He…

He was…

“I’m so proud of you. I know you’re struggling, I can see how hard you work. When people like you and me succeed, it’s not always going to look the same as success does for other people.”

Jesper felt a stab of embarrassment as he realized his eyes were welling up. Unable to find the words, he brought his hands up to cover Wylan’s.

“I think I know,” Wylan said. “It’s how I used to… how I feel sometimes about not being able to read. I’m already different, so if I can’t do what other people can… it’s like I’m trying to prove I’m as good as they are. Then I fail, and I think I’m not as good.”

Softly, Jesper told him, “You are.”

Wylan moved forward, took his hands off Jesper’s face and drew him into a hug. Jesper settled close against him.

“You are so much stronger than they can possibly imagine.”

Jesper nodded against Wylan’s shoulder. He didn’t entirely believe it, but he believed in Wylan.

“You did everything you could, everything right, and you’ll keep working next semester. And anyway, I’m counting on you, Jesper. It takes extraordinary people to do incredible things.”

See now, hadn’t Jesper told him just a few nights ago that Wylan had a fine way with words? He had taken Jesper from ashamed of what made him weird, to proud of what made him special, to feeling like he had really accomplished something.

“How did I get so lucky,” Jesper murmured. 

“Because,” Wylan said, pressing a kiss to his temple, “you are extraordinary. You don’t think I would settle for just anyone, do you?”


End file.
